Seventeen
by headtrip parade
Summary: Fireflies and first kisses on the lake. Rayna and Deacon PastFic.


**Deacon and Rayna PastFic. Here's to a long summer ahead and hoping they'll be so blissful again soon! :)**

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The stars hunt brightly like a vast ocean of shimmering crystals illuminating a black abyss, reflecting just as intensely off the lake in front of them.

Rayna Jaymes closed her eyes and smiled contently as she drew in a deep breath of balmy early-June Tennessee air, completely losing herself to the melody of the katydids and frogs harmonizing. It was every bit as beautiful, if not more so, than any symphony her parents had ever taken her to as a child; calming her in a way she had not felt since her mother had last wrapped her in her arms four and a half short years ago.

She cared not about resting her head on the hard, uneven bed of a beat up 1977 Ford F-150—she could lay there forever. Sure, she was a born and bred Nashvillian marketing herself as a tried and true "Tennessee girl," but aside from polo matches and proper riding lessons Rayna had been raised to be as outdoorsy as Coco Chanel.

She opened her eyes and snapped away from her thoughts at the sound of a can popping. Aside from the glorious music of the regular lake dwellers, Rayna heard nothing else but the sweet sound of carbonation floating to the top and his precious voice as he whispered a curse at the ensuing foam.

She sat slowly, ignoring the stiffness she'd garnered from laying in the truck bed for what felt like hours. In reality, it was probably only a few minutes.

She grinned as she took the icy Budweiser can from his guitar calloused fingers.

"Happy birthday, Ray." He smirked.

"Thank you," she muttered. "For everything."

While his blue eyes were wild with confusion, all the young man could muster was a smile. At nineteen, Deacon Claybourne had seen far more woe and depravity than most people see in their entire lifetime. Everything surrounding him from the time he was born had been every different kind of awful, so he'd locked himself in a box with nothing but his guitar and didn't look back. He hummed melodies and wrote down little words; channeled his calamity and tried night after fruitless night to push everything away, but it was always there. The ugliness always remained; it seemed, until that chilly, wet night seven months ago when he walked into the Bluebird Café.

She was sitting on the stage singing some unmemorable song with some equally unmemorable guitarist, but all he could see was his ugliness slipping away and her beauty seeping in. Everything about her from her red waves to her bright eyes and infectious smile was radiant and wonderful, and he knew within two milliseconds that _she_ was his future.

He'd questioned God a lot in his life and he'd spent a great deal of his childhood bargaining everything to avoid the beating he knew was coming as soon as the bar closed, but he suddenly stopped questioning. That very moment, he silently thanked the almighty for leading him to that small café on a rainy Tuesday night.

He'd stated his case to her several times, none more so evident than when he presented her with the song he'd written for her on a napkin exactly 90 seconds after laying eyes on her, but she wouldn't have it. She was kind, thoughtful, and far too innocent. They were _friends_, she'd told him.

So here they were—just two friends hanging out at the lake on a late spring night, listening to katydids and drinking Bud from a can.

"What do you mean, 'everything'?"

She shrugged and took a sip of the beverage, still trying to get used the taste and not make a fool of herself by dismissing it as completely foul.

"You've been really great, Deacon. The songs, the beer…" she sheepishly held her can up to him and mouthed 'cheers.' Her eyes tingled as he grinned at her; slowly bringing his can up to indulge her impromptu toast. "Really I just wanna thank you for the last few weeks. It's been really nice of you to let me stay."

He shook his head dismissively.

"Come on, Ray. You know better than that."

She smiled meekly, allowing it to sink in that he was the first and only person to ever call her that. _Ray._ She liked having a nickname.

"What? I'm allowed to say thank you. I know it's been a burden. Tandy's roommate is moving out in a couple of weeks, so she said—"

"You're leaving?"

The shock in his eyes cut her, but not so much as the small glimmer of pain in them. She scooted herself to the edge of the truck bed and swung her bare feet over, looking down at them shyly.

"Well, we have those three gigs coming up so that should give me enough for a deposit on a place. I'll only have to stay with her for a couple of weeks. Plus I really don't want you to have to sleep on the couch anymore. I know it hurts your back."

He unconsciously mended his posture, allowing a small crack to resound from his spine.

"My back doesn't hurt."

She cocked her head to the side and took another sip of beer.

"Deacon, please. I'm not stupid."

He brought his eyes to hers, all the seriousness in the world penetrating them.

"I know you're not stupid."

She stared at him for a moment and let the nature of his words sink in. Anyone could tell her she wasn't stupid, but aside from her mother, she had never known anyone to actually _convince_ her. He meant what he said and knowing that burned her from the inside out.

She blushed, looking back down at her feet.

"I just don't want to impose anymore."

Part of her knew that was a lie—she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she wasn't imposing, but she was approaching a bridge she wasn't sure she wanted to cross at 100 MPH. They could only do this two-step for so long where she lived out of two suitcases in his bedroom while he slept on the couch and dodged the constant teasing from his roommate about their lack of consummation. She blushed again at her thoughts, reminding herself that at her own insistence they hadn't even _kissed, _so theoretically there was no relationship _to_ consummate.

But _of course_ there was a relationship. It was new and fragile and the scariest thing she had imagined since the haunted house at the fair the year she turned thirteen, but something was definitely hovering above them. It had been there since he played her the song he wrote for her the first night they met.

If she had to be honest, she was in love with him ten minutes later.

She'd pushed him away at every corner, at first because she really did just want to see him as a friend but as the weeks wore on and he bared his soul to her in every decision he made, it was becoming harder and harder to fight what was brewing.

He was handsome. He was talented. He was a perfect gentleman. He called her "Ray." He took her in when she had nowhere else to go… how was any teenage girl supposed to resist?

"Rayna, we'll figure something out. Our gigs aren't steady enough for you to try to get a whole new place on your own and I know you don't wanna stay with your sister."

Rayna sighed and swung her legs back and forth quickly, as if she were a five year old with too much pent up energy.

"You really don't want me to go, huh?"

He smirked and stared at her, shaking his head.

"Not a bit. I'm used to ya."

She laughed slightly and looked out to the water, taking notice of the fireflies zigzagging happily in front of her.

"It's so beautiful out here. Living like this is kind of my dream."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Coffee County is your dream? You don't shoot too high."

She laughed and smacked him on the shoulder, giggling even harder when a bit of her beer splashed him.

"Not Coffee County, specifically. I just want a ton of land on the water. Maybe build a house with a lot of windows. I wanna sit out on my porch and see the stars and the fireflies and hear the crickets and the frogs…" She trailed off again, fighting the urge to tell him how badly she also wanted to hear his fingers running over rusty guitar strings when she sat out on her dream porch.

She smiled shyly.

"Tune your guitar. Let's sing a bit."

He nodded silently, turning to pull the instrument out of its case.

She gazed at him longingly as he did so, keeping mental tabs at how perfect he looked in the twilight with his tank top, scraggly hair, and Gibson.

She couldn't be sure if it was the beer or just her heart's long suppressed desire, but she suddenly found herself with a strength and confidence she had never possessed before.

Slowly and ever so gently, she closed her eyes and eased her face to his, delicately placing her lips on his.

He remained frozen; one hand still on his guitar and the other limply hanging as he tried through his disbelief to muster the ability to bring it to her face. No such luck.

As her internal organs did every level of jumping jacks, Rayna cautiously began to explore his mouth with her tongue, running her hands over every inch of his beautiful face and allowing his hands to roam similarly.

Her first kiss was everything she'd thought it would be, including all of the nerves and all of the fireworks. She'd heard horror stories of how the first kiss was always generically bad, but this… this is was bliss.

This was _electric._

This was something for the history books, she thought to herself. Perhaps she was naïve, or perhaps she just knew an epic love story when she felt one. Either way, she was putty in his hands. She knew she was done for.

Deacon pulled back, catching his breath.

He said nothing, but his eyes were wide as he immediately went back to tuning his guitar.

In his peripheral vision he caught her awkwardly smoothing out her skirt and fiddling with her hair, and he could tell she was wondering if she'd done something wrong to make him stop.

Truth be told, he couldn't handle it any longer.

While it was no surprise to him that he loved this girl, the kiss was the first physical manifestation of their bond. That scared him and excited him; exciting to a point that he was sure he was about seven seconds from making an ass of himself when he assumed third base was kosher.

So he said nothing, only swung the guitar strap over his shoulder and began to strum and hum the night away.

He'd ask her later how she felt, but for now he would focus on the dancing fireflies, the stars, and his rusty guitar.

Who knows? Maybe he'd even write her a new song for her birthday.


End file.
